RTB Return to Base
by SkullFaerie
Summary: It's been five years since the Vajra War and a reporter tracks down the man whose love affair with the Galactic Fairy has become the stuff of legends. Spin-off to "Star-Crossed".
1. Chapter 1

**Story and contributed by: emochinchilla**  
**Title: RTB  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: Chinchillas are neither mercenaries with no purpose in life, nor are they owners of Macross Frontier.  
A/N: Please refer to the fanfic "Star-Crossed" (also by emochinchilla) to get a better sense of the timeline. This fanfic follows and is a direct spin-off from "Star-Crossed's" alternate ending.**

_Alto Saotome could never find his way home. He has been to so many places in the known Galaxy, and he has experienced so much in his short life, yet without Sheryl Nome by his side, there was nobody to guide him home. Alto Saotome is a pilot who will never be able to return to base. _- Col. Ozma Lee, SMS

.oOo.

The unshaven middle-aged man, with his long hair tied back in an unruly ponytail stared into the camera's lens. His expression was obviously downcast, and on the table in front of him was a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"I failed them. I failed all of them..." He muttered to himself, in a forelorn manner.

"Failed who?" Came the voice of a wide-eyed reporter, fresh out of university with his degree in journalism.

"...Saotome...Blanc...Angelloni..." The older man whispered, as the camera focused on the emblem of SMS on his jacket's left breast, and then shifting to focus on the patch of the infamous Frontier's Skull Squadron on his shoulder.

"Who were they?" The journalist inquired, focusing his camera on the older man's face as he took a drink from the bottle of whiskey that lay on the table, setting it down before continuing.

"Michel Blanc...Skull-2. Our sniper, killed by a stage-2 Vajra. Luca Angelloni...Skull-3. He's some bigwig in the LAI corporation now, but he has never been the same since...she died. Then there's the man you're looking for. Alto Saotome. Skull-4. I don't know where he is now, specifically...but..." The former Skull Squadron leader got up off the couch, walking over to the window. The sun's rays shone brightly, piercing the gloom of the dark room the interview was being conducted in. The pilot raised his arm and gestured to the sky. "He's out there somewhere...so long as there's a sky that's a battlefield, he'll always have a place to live."

The reporter pressed the stop button on his desktop computer's media player, freezing the frame on the shot of the sky that Ozma Lee, former Skull Squadron commander and current captain of the Macross Quarter, gestured to.  
_  
__Alto Saotome...the man whose love affair with the Galactic Fairy, Sheryl Nome, spread across the galaxy even faster than the late idol's career. Who is he really...and where is he now?_The reporter pondered, as he idly tapped his pencil against his chin.

The reporter's memory instantly flashed back to the remainder of his interview with the older pilot.

_"He loved her. Alto Saotome honestly loved Sheryl Nome with all his heart. She was the only thing that he cherished more than the idea of flying in an actual sky, free of the restraints that an Island in a colony fleet brings. When she died from the V-Type virus, something in him died, never to return. Not even his fulfilled dream of flying in a real sky could fill the hole in his heart that Sheryl's death left." The older man picked up a piece of paper and handed it to the reporter. "Take it. I don't know where he is now, but the transfer papers reassigning him to SMS's inter-galaxy security force should be the first lead." The reporter nodded his head in thanks, and turned to leave._

_"One more thing." Came the voice of the colonel, again. _

_"Sir?" The reporter asked, turning to face the adopted older brother of the Galactic Cinderella, Ranka Lee._

_"I know you have a job to do and a story to tell, but just keep this in mind: He doesn't want to be found. I think he's just looking for a place to die."_

_.oOo.  
_

On a distant planet, a blue-haired man in his early twenties sat alone in his quarters. The only light source in that room was the light emanating from his laptop. The young man sighed wistfully as he scrolled through a photo album, picture by picture. The pictures were all taken in a variety of settings. There was a picture at a cafe, at a dinner table by candlelight, at a beach, on a hilltop, and many more. All of the pictures on the laptop had one thing in common, though. They all featured a captivating pink-haired woman and the same blue-haired male in the same picture, usually behaving in an affectionate manner.

Suddenly, red lights flashed all over his quarters and klaxons started to blare throughout the facility. "Saotome! Take Crossbone Squadron and scramble, the Anti-NUNS forces are attacking again!" Came a panicked voice, crackling through a speaker on the wall.

Alto sighed and got to his feet, pushing his chair back out behind him. He closed the lid on his laptop and caressed a lone picture of the same stunning pink-haired girl that stood on his desk.

"I'll be back soon, Sheryl..." He whispered softly to it, as he quickly ran out the door and ran in the direction of the hangar.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Alto-kun loved Sheryl-san_. _I loved Alto-kun. He killed my brother, Brera, during the final battle as we made our way down to the planet's surface, after Sheryl-san died. I love him and Ihate him at the same time. I don't know if it's because he chose Sheryl-san in the end, or if it's because he killed my long-lost brother I only just found out about, before I got a chance to get to know him._" - "The Galactic Cinderella" Ranka Lee

.oOo.

The petite green-haired woman sat with her legs crossed, in a comfortable armchair as she looked down towards the wooden tiles on the floor. The expression in her eyes was airy, as if she was in some far off place, reliving events long passed.

"Alto-kun loved the sky. I remember how happy he was, in that short time we flew together in the skies of Gallia IV. But even then, I knew that even though he considered me a good friend, he would've rather had Sheryl-san sitting in the back seat." Ranka smiled wistfully, her hair rising just slightly. "After all...she's the one who gave him a chance to fly in a real sky for his birthday. He wanted to share it with her..." She trailed off.

There was a moment of silence in the tense air before she continued.

"But after the last battle...after..._**she**_ died and he killed my brother, it was like he died as well. Anyone could see it. He would just stare off into the sky for hours at a time, and he would just look at...**_her_** old earring, until he had it built into her gravestone. The most telling sign was when we finally noticed that no more paper airplanes soared through the skies..." Ranka's voice drifted off to a whisper, as she reached up to wipe her eyes.

"Alto killed my brother out of revenge. Brera-nii shot down Alto earlier in the battle when he tried to rescue me, and the time he spent switching to his other variable fighter could've been the deciding factor in whether Sheryl-san could've been saved by me or not."

Ranka had to hold back sobs as the tears started to trail down her cheeks.

"I still blame myself sometimes! If I hadn't left to bring Ai-kun home, I could've stayed and used my powers to cure Sheryl's illness. That way Alto-kun wouldn't have killed Brera, Sheryl-san wouldn't have died, Alto wouldn't have left and they could've lived happily ever after!" She cried, voice full of both bitterness and longing as she collapsed onto the couch and sobbed into the cushions, bawling her eyes out.

The reporter could only hand her the box of kleenex on the coffee table, a gesture to which she responded with a simple nod of gratitude. "So...is there anything else you'd like to ask?" The young woman inquired, still sniffling.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. How's the progress of your long-awaited next album coming along?" The reporter asked, tapping his finger against the camera's side.

And Ranka Lee snapped. She leapt off the couch, shrieking loudly at the top of her lungs, the tears flowing once again.

"HOW DARE YOU! YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COME IN HERE AND MAKE ME RELIVE MY BIGGEST REGRETS IN LIFE, AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO ASK ME WHEN MY NEXT FUCKING ALBUM'S COMING OUT! HOW DARE YOU! GET OUT! GET. OUT!" She screeched, her hair now standing on end, bristling with rage, as she started to pick up assorted paperweights and sculptures and ornaments and throw them at the reporter, still sobbing.

The camera rocked and shook as the reporter quickly fled.

And Ranka Lee sunk to her knees, broken, as she shoved her face into her palms and cried bitterly, grieving over what could've been and what should've been.

.oOo.

Alto returned from his sudden intercept mission, quickly taxiing the faithful VF-25 that stood by him all these years into its spot in the hangar. As he climbed down the ladder, the crew chief greeted him joyfully, clapping him on the shoulder as his feet touched the ground.

"Good work today, kiddo! That's ten more to your kill record!" He called, as Alto nodded and walked away, tenderly reaching out to touch the image on his Messiah's nose as he went to debrief.

On the nose of Alto's variable fighter lay a painted image of the late Sheryl Nome posing in a bikini. It was a solemn reminder of his lost love, and a warning to any of his opponents on the battlefield. The other pilots on the base knew not to talk about his nose art, or make fun of it, and enemy pilots knew the chances of them surviving a fight with the man who captured the Galactic Fairy's heart was slim to none.

Alto Saotome was a very dangerous man, despite his quiet demeanor and feminine facial features. The young man had filled out over the past few years, having made sure to add some muscle to his lean frame as life on the front lines was very, very difficult.

One loudmouth had the misfortune of pointing out the size of a certain anatomical region on Alto's fighter's nose, and ended up having to be sent back to SMS's main hospital in order to have his face rebuilt.

And the rooms next to his were always unoccupied, after all the previous inhabitants complained that they were unable to get any sleep, because the sound of a man crying himself to sleep always kept them up at night.

Nobody mentioned it to him, because they enjoyed not requiring facial reconstruction, and the base superiors didn't show any displeasure. After all, he was the best pilot they had, with more than a 100 kill lead over the next leading pilot on the killboard. On the frontlines, sometimes you needed to make a few concessions here and there in order to survive.

And in these bloody skies, Saotome Alto was the uncontested king of survival.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sempai died on that day_. _From that point on, he was no longer the upperclassman I spent my high school years with. The fighting spirit is the only thing that remains of Saotome Alto. His stubborness and inability to yield is the only thing that keeps him from crumbling to dust. Without Sheryl-san, the only thing left in Alto-sempai's life is flight. He didn't want to return to kabuki, he no longer needed pilot school now that he had proven his worth as a combat pilot, and he no longer needed to act. Everybody knew who he was, everybody knew how grave his loss was. He didn't even bother trying to put up a brave front anymore."_ - Luca Angelloni, Head of R&D for LAI Enterprises.

.oOo.

The reporter drummed his fingers on top of a recording device that sat on the mahogany desk of Luca Angelloni, the head of the Research & Development division of the LAI enterprises megacorporation. Ironically enough, for all the advanced technology that LAI works with, Security wouldn't let him take his camera into the head's office, forcing him to resort to a tape recorder.

"Alto-sempai isn't the only person who lost someone he loved." The baby-faced redhead said, pointing out a picture of a purple-haired girl with glasses lying in a hospital bed, smiling weakly with a younger version of the redhead next to her.

"I was lost too, for a while. The only thing that saved me at the end of the day was my identity."He continued, raising his arms and gesturing grandly at the entirety of his office. "I am an heir to LAI enterprises. I am the current head of the R&D department. I have to continue on in making advancements in the technological field. It's my duty to both the survivors, and the dead." He said, opening the drawers of his desk to look for something. "Besides...it's what Nanase-san would've wanted me to do..." He muttered softly, as he continued to leaf through assorted folders and documents.

"Ah, here it is." He said, handing the reporter a business card with the location of SMS's main headquarters and other pieces of contact information on it.

"Go ask for Admiral Jeffrey Wilder, Captain Bobby Margot and Mr. Bilrer, the CEO. Tell them I sent you, otherwise they won't tell you anything about Sempai. They would have a better idea of his whereabouts." He leaned back in his business chair. "After all, I'm no longer a fighter pilot. I'm now a mere researcher and businessman." Luca Angelloni said, a wry smile on his face.

.oOo.

A certain former kabuki actor entered the dining hall, his black SMS jacket zipped up and his hands shoved in its pockets. One could see the shape of his breath in the air.

_'Who would've thought that this cold metal labyrinth that SMS calls an outpost would be so cold if the heating broke?'_' The blue-haired pilot thought bitterly to himself, as he joined the lineup for a hot meal in the mess hall. After his turn came, and he was given a generous portion of hot borscht and a pint of beer (to chase away the cold that the night would bring), he walked up and down in the aisles between the tables, his neatly-tied ponytrail trailing behind him.

Once he caught sight of a bunch of pilots hunched over their meals, all clad in similar SMS jackets with the emblem of a Skull and Crossbones emblazened upon them in the tradition of pirates on ancient Earth, he made his way over to them and sat down at their table.

This was Crossbone squadron, the most elite squadron housed at this distant facility. All of the pilots in this squadron were hand-picked by their leader, Saotome Alto himself. These group of individuals were the only people that the ace pilot acted towards with any semblance of friendliness and respect. They respected him enough to give him his privacy when it came to the topic of Sheryl Nome, and although he never vocalized it, he was extremely thankful for that.

Besides their skills, there were other prerequisites that Alto took into account when he selected the pilots that would make up this squadron. One, they all had to share a common love of the sky and flight; and two, they were all alone as well, having lost the most important person in their lives.

As the group of pilots chat to each other softly in the clamour of the mess hall, eating and drinking civilly with one another, Alto had to smile bitterly as he remained quiet, not participating in the current conversation about the lackluster quality of the alcoholic beverages available at the base's bar.

Who would've thought he would've found some solace in finding others like him? Others who existed only to fly in any way they could, their reasons to live having been stripped from them.

The blue-haired ace chuckled softly to himself, as he took a sip of the hot borscht.

_'Misery really does love company._'


	4. Chapter 4

_"Their love was beautiful. Plain and simple." –_ Captain Bobby Margot (SMS)

.oOo.

The reporter sat down in a comfortable armchair, facing the grizzled-looking older man with a scarred face. As the two of them eased into the embrace of their seats, a youthful-looking woman came out of the kitchen, setting down two cups of coffee on the knee-high table in-between the two men. The older man smiled gratefully at his young wife, and she returned the gesture as she returned to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

"So, what do you want to know about Saotome?" The older man asked, taking a sip of the hot brew.

"Sir, you've only worked with him from a professional standpoint, as he was your subordinate. What kind of soldier was he? I'd also like to know where he might be, now. I'm doing a piece on his widely-known love affair with the late Sheryl Nome." The reporter blew cool air into his cup before taking a drink.

"Ah, I see." The captain said in his gravelly voice, clearing his throat after. "Well, Saotome Alto was a Warrant Officer when I first met him. He was headstrong, impulsive, and often charged headlong into the thick of battle without a concrete strategy. Basically, like all of us were at one point, he was young." The elderly man said, laughing. "Except for one instance where he smuggled Ms. Nome onto the bridge of the Quarter, he was your model soldier who followed orders and protocol to the letter. He proved himself in battle and I'm honoured to have served with him." He said with a smile, as he took another long sip from his cup of caffeinated goodness.

"As for his current whereabouts, I'm afraid Ican't help you with that. You could ask Mr. Bilrer himself or try to track down some of his other comrades." The older man turned his head into the kitchen and called out to his wife.

"Monica!Would you make some more for our guest, please?" His voice boomed, turning back to face his guest.

"Why don't you join my wife and I for lunch?" He said, smiling.

The young reporter blinked as he entered the humongous mansion. Surrounding him were...nothing but model trains running on miniaturized tracks. In the center of what appeared to be this jumbled mess of a rail system, sat a Macronized Zentradi man with a huge fold quartz ring on his left hand.

"Ah, you must be the reporter who's been snooping around, asking current and former SMS employees and their associates for the whereabouts of one Saotome Alto, no?" Came the voice of the Zentran, loud and booming.

The voice, volume, and commanding presence of the giant had the reporter on his toes, sweating bullets. His eyes darted around the room, looking for hidden snipers or security guards or automated turrets or a variable fighter hidden, waiting to blow him to little bloody bi-

"Calm down, I mean no ill will by that statement. It IS what you're doing, after all, no?" The zentran said, in a more reassuring tone.

"Well, I was wondering if you could tell me what you thought of Saotome Alto, and where he is now." The reporter asked, visibly more calm.

"Ahh, I don't know where Saotome-kun is stationed, now. That's not part of my jurisdiction and I don't oversee every detail of our operations. There's just too much that we do, I'm sorry. But I'll gladly tell you what I thought about Saotome-kun." The old zentran said, stopping of all his trains with the flick of a switch, to focus on the conversation at hand.

"I thought Saotome-kun had a lot of potential, as a man and a pilot. He was brutally honest, and trustworthy. That's why I felt I could share my dream of using the fold quartz to create a galaxy-wide transportation system, with him. He was an asset to SMS, and still is, whichever battlefield he may be serving on now. I wish I could tell you which one he may be stationed at, but the fact of the matter is that there are just too many SMS pilots being contracted to so many different fronts that it'd be virtually impossible to remember where each one went. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to your story." The old zentran finished, bowing his head slightly in apology.

"Alto-chan!? Oh, I miss him so! What do you need to know about him?" The puffy-haired effeminate man asked, with his usual vigour and bouncy attitude. "Ask away, I'll tell you everything I know!" He said, flopping back onto the couch, crossing his legs.

"Well, I just wanted to know if you knew where he could possibly be, and what you thought of the man and his relationship with Sheryl." The reporter asked, a bit surprised with the pilot of the Macross Quarter. It wasn't the man's effeminate mannerisms that surprised him. Not at all, he had plenty of gay friends and co-workers. It was the fact that he could actually sit down and cross his legs properly.

"Oh my god!" The battleship pilot gushed, touching a hand to his cheek. "Alto-chan and Sheryl-chan were too cute together. I remember when he risked his career and smuggled Sheryl onto the bridge when she was sick, and I heard how he used one of her songs as his callsign in the last battle. I wrote some of those tabloid articles from before, you know!" He said ecstatically, producing a bunch of article clippings out of nowhere, which he handed to the reporter with much gusto. "Their relationship was amazing. Alto became a man because of Sheryl-chan's influence, and she became less of a prima donna. Ohhh, it was like something out of a movie." The effiminate man swooned, touching both hands to his face, sighing.

"I really felt horrible for Alto-chan when Sheryl died, though. It was like his inner beauty faded away with each day. Sure, he looked the same on the outside, but he just changed so much. We didn't notice it before, when she was still alive, but Alto-chan was just so happy when they were together." Bobby Margot sighed, before continuing on to his final statement. "I can't imagine what it's like to have the source of your joy in life torn away from you in such a way."

He got up to leave, but turned to say one last thing to the reporter who still stood in the same place, as he left the room. "Go find Captain Klan Klan. If there's one person who knows what Alto-chan's going through, it's her."

.oOo.

In a darkened room, Alto lay on his bed, facing the ceiling. He rested his hands behind his head on the pillow, just staring at at the ceiling. The only source of light coming from his laptop, which played an old Sheryl Nome song at a very low volume.

Alto sighed and whispered one word softly, the sound barely leaving his lips as a lone tear trickled down his face.

"Sheryl..."

The blue-haired man rolled over and buried his face into the pillow, his choked sobs muffled by the soft fabric.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Taichou changed so much after that day...I don't think any of us really knew how deeply he cared for Sheryl-sama, and how much she meant to him? Looking back, I still feel like a total douchebag for ribbing so much on Taichou about their relationship..." _- Ensign Maruyama (NUNS)

.oOo.

The exhausted reporter dragged his feet into the Veteran's Hall, which was a place for survivors of the Vajra Conflict to socialize and get free alcohol.

It was too early in the morning for this. That's what he told himself as he trudged throughout the sea of grizzled veteran military personnel, most of whom were in their early twenties. They were a varied bunch, some were in wheelchairs, some used canes, some had prosthetics and some had cybernetics.

The reporter looked throughout the hall, asking anyone if they knew Captain Klan Klan, and if they knew where to find the micloned Meltran. His inquiries were ignored, rejected, or ended in him being chased off with a threatening wave of an empty beer bottle, until a brown-eyed brunette finally replied to him in a positive manner.

"Oh! Captain Klan rarely ever comes here, and she has an appointment at the psychiatrist's today." The young man said.

"And just how do you know her...?" Came the reporter's response.

"Oh, sorry! Iforgot my manners. They call me Maruyama, and the captain saved me during the last battle of the war. When Galaxy launched its ghost fighters, one fired right through my cockpit and destroyed half of my body." He pointed to his right side and continued, "The entire right side of my body, from the shoulders-down is cybernetic. Captain Klan found the wreckage of my fighter and pulled me to safety. I flew a VF-171EX, callsign Sagittarius-2, under the command of Saotome Alto."

The reporter's eyes snapped open and his ears visibly perked up. "Funny you mention Saotome Alto. You see, I'm a reporter and I'm doing a piece about him. Specifically, I'm doing a piece about him and his love affair with the late Sheryl Nome."

The naive brunette's eyes opened and his mouth fell, gaping at the reporter. "EHH!? You're doing a piece on Taichou and Sheryl-sama? Ahh, I always knew they were going to be a big couple. The kabuki actor and the idol. Taichou was one lucky bastard..." He said, smirking. "Now, how about we discuss this over a drink? Nine in the morning is the perfect time for a pick-me-up drink, wouldn't you say?" He asked, turning around to the bartender, the movement making his half-cybernetic body emit the typical "whirring" or "whining" sounds you'd expect mechanical devices to.

.oOo.

Alto sat in a round booth at the base's bar, along with the entirety of the Crossbone Squadron. On their booth's table lay a whole stash of hard liquor, shotglasses, pint glasses, tall glasses, pitchers of beer, and any other sort of alcohol-related beverage.

It was karaoke night at the bar, and Alto let the rest of his squadron drag him out to the social gathering, even though they knew he'd rather spend the rest of the night in his room. Socialization was good, they told him.

When somebody, in all their drunken judgment, decided to go up and sing a Sheryl Nome song, everybody tensed and held their breaths. They knew that the sullen blue-haired pilot was a bomb that the slightest nudge would set off in a firey blast. It was karaoke night, it was a night to kick back and have fun, not watch someone literally kill someone else over singing a song.

Luckily for the patrons, the bartender, and the base administration who would've had to do a lot of paperwork, Alto conveniently passed out at that time, the alcohol consumption having taken its toll.

With a collective sigh of relief from everybody assembled in the dusty, dingy bar, the festivities continued throughout the night, and Alto only reawakened when the bartender was prodding him, returning him to the land of the living, solely to throw him out.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Saotome Alto is a man who's lost the one person who gave his life a deeper purpose. He no longer has someone to live for, grow old with and start a family with. He is eager to die in order to reunite with the one he loved. It's tragic, because he can't go on and live for the both of them...it's what Sheryl Nome would've wanted."_ - Capt. Klan Klan (SMS)

.oOo.

The blue-haired meltran frowned and crossed his arms, glaring at the reporter.

"What do you mean I don't look like I'm an SMS member? I'll have you know I look like this in my Miclone form because of a genetic defect!" She snapped, glaring daggers at the reporter, who just appeared taken aback and waved his hands in front of his face, muttering apologies.

"Fine, I'll give you a damn interview. Follow me, we'll do it at my favorite cafe...but you're paying!" She yelled, stalking off in its general direction. The reporter could only sigh and follow her, unhappy with the prospect of treating a potential lead to what could very well be an extremely expensive meal.

Oh well, it was for the sake of the story, right?

After several empty plates, cups and one very drained wallet were left on the table, a very satisfied young Meltran girl pat her stomach, turning to the downtrodden reporter with a cheeky grin on her face. "Well, at least I'm going to tell you where Alto-baka is, now." She said.

She turned away from him and looked up at the cloudless, sunny, blue skies that lay overhead. "I'm concerned for him. I really am...we're the same, him and I? The war and the things that lead up to it, like the Galaxy conspiracy and the survivors of the 117th Research Fleet...they took from the both of us the person we loved most in our lives. The Vajra killed Michel Blanc...an SMS pilot who I was in love with, and Ididn't know he felt the same until it was too late." She said, her eyes staring into space like she was in another place completely.

"The Galaxy conspiracy' s head, Grace O' Connor, gave Sheryl Nome, who survived the destruction of the 117th the V-Type virus, which lead to her death in the final battle. After that, well, you must've read the reports. Alto took out the Galaxy conspiracy almost single-handedly...He loved her so much, you know. He gave up his beloved VF-25 when the majority of SMS deserted the Frontier fleet to stay by Sheryl's side. He lived with her, cooked for her, and carried her to bed when she was too weak to do so. He kept his promise to her and stayed by her side until the end." She turned back to face the reporter, smiling sadly.

"She changed him. When I first met him, he was a reckless young man who thought he was invincible. He hated Frontier because he felt the sky was too low and restrictive. But the time he spent with Sheryl made him into a formidable pilot and capable commander, and he decided that Frontier was worth living in and defending, and he was willing to die to do so. He almost did, but then that miracle happened...I'm sure you've seen the videos of it." She said.

The young miclone grabbed a kleenex out of her purse to dab at her eyes with. "I'm sorry...but this interview has really been hard for me. I'll tell you where he is right now." She pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling down some information on Saotome Alto's whereabouts." Klan began to cry harder as she handed it over to the reporter. "He shouldn't be living like this! This isn't what Sheryl would've wanted! I'm getting help, but Alto-baka never even tried! All he's doing is fighting day in, day out, living only to see the skies some more. He's trying to die out there! Sheryl-san would've wanted him to live! I'm sorry, but Ihave to go." The meltran got up, bowed to the reporter and took off, running down the street. Her heartwrenching sobs attracted the attention of passer-bys as she ran off into the distance.

.oOo.

Alto groaned as he felt the block his fighter was set on get up and begin to move, shifting towards the hangar bay's elevator. His head pounded, the sounds of his fighter's engines and cockpit systems ringing in his ears, amplifying his pain. It was his turn to fly patrol the morning after karaoke night, and he was regretting drinking so much the night before.

"_Why do I bother going on? Another long day, another drunken night, what's the point? Sheryl's gone, and I have no future other than continuing to live in war. Why do I keep living? What's to stop me from going and drinking myself to death tonight?" _The pilot asked himself, as his fighter ascended the dark concrete shaft that lead to the runway on the surface.

As he taxied his fighter taxied onto the runway, Alto looked up at the blue sky, with fluffy clouds high up in the atmosphere and the sun shining brightly upon the planet this one morning.

"_That's why I keep living...to fly in these skies. The higher I go, the closer to Sheryl I become...At least, until I can go to join her for good. She would never forgive me if I killed myself anyway..."_ He mused, as he placed his hand on the throttle, increasing the output of his engines for takeoff.

"Saotome Alto, Crossbone-1, going out on patrol." He broadcast to the control tower, as his red VF-25 streaked off the runway into the morning skies.


	7. Chapter 7

_"I finally had the key to the mystery of Sheryl Nome's last days. I finally located the whereabouts of Saotome Alto. I finally found the last piece of the puzzle that was the end of Sheryl Nome's life, and the man who captured her heart."_

.oOo.

The reporter stepped off of the cargo shuttle, looking around him in shock as he gaped at the size of the subterranean hangar that surrounded him. It was huge. That was the only way he could describe the bustling center of activity. Crew chiefs buzzed around variable fighters like worker bees, and spacecraft constantly both returned to the hangar and taxied to the launching elevator to go out on sortie.

The young man hopped out of the way of a VF-25 as it headed towards the elevator, waving sheepishly at the pilot who had a few choice words for him. The reporter wisely decided to make his way straight towards the base commander's office, so as to not aggravate any more of the personnel at this base.

After all, nosy reporters like himself weren't exactly welcome on the front lines.

"So you're here to do a story on Saotome?" The base commander grunted, staring at him from behind a dark pair of sunglasses as he observed the nervous journalist, leafing through the young man's documents absent-mindedly as he did so. "I hope you got life insurance, then." He said, stamping the papers that would give the reporter access to the entire facility.

The reporter got up and uttered a quick thanks to the portly man, as he turned around to leave.

"Wait." The older man growled in his gruff way of speaking. The reporter turned around, a sudden sense of deja vu washing over him.

'Don't push him too hard about Sheryl Nome, or I will not take any responsibility for what he does to you. I **refuse** to fill out any more medical forms or paperwork involving somebody needing to be sent to the hospital to have his entire cheek rebuilt from the ground up." He snarled, staring right into the reporter's eyes with a steely gaze.

The reporter nodded meekly, and left in a hurry, closing the door behind him. Once he left the room, he slid down the wall to the floor, banging his head against the wall.

"What did I get myself into?" He asked to himself, weakly.

Saotome Alto staggered into his quarters and tossed his helmet onto the bed. He then pitched forward and threw himself onto the mattress, face-first. He was exhausted, hung over, tired, and he was just about to sink into the pleasurable confines of sleep when a loud, obnoxious banging on his door shook him from the beginnings of a pleasant dream.

He groggily groaned, getting to his feet. That damned noise only compounded the pain his hangover was giving him.

"Come in!" He barked, and the door slid open to reveal a young man with a camera hanging around his neck, a pencil tucked behind his ear, and a very peculiar shade of pinkish blond.

"What the...what the hell is this?" He stammered, eyes wide open and shaking with shock.

"Greetings, Saotome Alto," The young man said, stepping forward as the door slid closed behind him, "I am a journalist doing a piece on the last days of Sheryl Nome and the love affair that took off, capturing the minds and imaginations of millions across the galaxy. You are the last piece of the puzzle that is the end of her life. I have a personal stake in this, because Sheryl was the granddaughter of Mao Nome, the famous Mayan researcher. I am also a descendant of the Mayan peoples. I'm a distant cousin of Sheryl, Alto-san. We want to know how the last of the Nomes felt as she died..."

Alto couldn't believe it. Sheryl was never really alone...there were people like her out there that she never even knew existed. They could've helped her and saved her from the cruel fate that befell her. Where were they when she was eating trash in the slums? Where were they as she was experimented on, injected with the V-Type virus? Where were they as she lay crying in his arms, begging him to help give her the courage to sing as she approached her inevitable end? Where were they as they lowered her casket into the ground one rainy day, years ago?

The only thing Alto was aware of at that point was his shaky panting, the spasming of his muscles, and the sudden urge to kill the heartless bastard who stood in front of him.

The reporter barely had time to blink before the blue-haired pilot unleashed a primal scream of unbridled rage, leaping at him. The young man's eyes widened just in time for the enraged ace's fist to slam right into his face, knocking him into the door. The reporter's hand shot up to his now bloody nose, as Saotome Alto continued to assail the helpless reporter. Alto's fist slammed into the side of the other man's head several times, causing a stream of blood to fly out of the journalist's mouth, right as the door opened from the weight of the reporter upon it, sending the two of them sprawling outward into the hallway.

A young female office clerk nearly got bowled over by the pair of men, and she leapt out of the way with a high-pitched squeal as the reporter hit the ground first, the long-haired man slamming right on top of him. Alto recovered and continued to pound the living daylights out of the journalist, his fists slamming into the Mayan descendant's face repeatedly as a crowd began to form.

The other pilots had a morbid curiosity when it came to watching their best pilot beat the crap out of someone. Their interest was doubled when they found out that it was the nosy reporter who came in earlier who was stupid enough to set off the ace's rage. As Alto's rage began to dissipate, so did the strength of his blows, and he eventually collapsed on top of the reporter, weeping.

The members of Crossbone squadron pushed their way through the crowd to their leader's aid. They knew how he could get sometimes, and three of them leapt out to pull their emotional leader off of the prone reporter, who reached up to wipe his blood off his face.

"Oh, now you've done it. You went and talked about Sheryl, didn't ya, mate?" Came the accented voice of one of the Crossbone pilots, a blond of Australian descent. He was about to take a few shots at the injured journalist himself, before Alto yelled "DON'T!", which caused everyone assembled to look at the teary-faced squadron leader, who was helped to his feet by his wingmen.

"If you had done something to help Sheryl all those years ago, I would've never met her." Was all he said to justify his decision, as he started to head back towards his room. He stopped right in front of the threshold to his private sanctuary, his back facing the reporter who slowly staggered to his feet.

"Go to the infirmary and get patched up, then come back here. I'll give you your interview." Was the only thing he said before the door to his quarters slid open, Saotome Alto disappearing inside as the bloodied and bruised reporter could only stare in shock at his retreating back.


	8. Chapter 8

_"When Sheryl died, I was just about ready to give up_ _on life altogether. I tried to fight to the death during the battle over the Vajra homeworld, and almost succeeded when I was about to burn up in the atmosphere_. _However, Sheryl wouldn't let me die. I don't know how she was able to save me from beyond the grave, but that's why I'm still here today. Eversince then, I've been fighting, trying to reach that point of near-death just so Ican see her once more. If I do die for good next time, then I'll get to stay with her..." _- Capt. Saotome Alto (SMS)

.oOo.

The reporter sat in a chair across from Saotome Alto in a secluded booth at the SMS outpost's bar. It was a quiet night at the establishment, and aside from a few other strays, they were the only patrons there that night. The strawberry-blond nursed a sole pint of beer, while Alto took a long drink from his third tall glass of rum and coke. He set the half-empty glass down with a sigh, wiped his mouth and turned to the journalist, who cautiously took tiny sips from his drink.

"Thanks for the drinks kid...now what'd you want to ask me?" He said, struggling a bit to form coherent words.

"I know everything about how you met, but I want to know how you felt about her during the short amount of time she was in your life, Alto-san." The reporter said, training his camera on the blue-haired pilot, who wore a wistful expression.

"Heh...it's kinda funny...when Ifirst met her, I thought she was your typical spoiled, pampered, prima donna pop diva. In short, I thought she was a total bitch." Alto said, smiling wryly at the memories of the fierce, combative Sheryl he first met.

The reporter blinked and nodded blankly as the camera continued to record.

_"Well...this is going to be one interesting interview."_

.oOo.

Several hours later, when both the reporter and the pilot were thoroughly intoxicated and many empty drinks lay upon the table, the interview had long since finished. The camera now hung from the reporter's neck, the battery having ran out long ago, shortly after the reporter ran out of questions to ask the man who captured the Galactic Fairy's heart.

The pilot decided since that he had already dragged all of his painful memories up to the forefront of his mind, he might as well take the opportunity to drown them with liquor. After all, he had no sortie the following morning, giving him lots of time to sleep in and recover.

Since the reporter was the one who forced him to dredge up those memories, he almost literally forced the alcohol down the young man's throat, despite his vehement protests. Ready to retire, Alto stumbled to his feet and told the bartender to put tonight's festivities on his tab. The man behind the counter responded by shooing Alto away, so he could finish polishing the assorted glasses that he just washed.

The drunken pilot returned to the table to tell his inebriated companion that he was going to retire for the night, and that the base commander arranged for him to stay in one of the unoccupied rooms next to his, for the duration of his stay at the base. The sloshed reporter nodded, and the two of them miraculously made their way back to their respective quarters.

The reporter was kept awake all night by the sound of his drunken neighbour's howling sobs, calling out for his deceased lover. The young man could only shudder and try to bury himself deeper into the covers and stuff the pillow over his ears.

The morning after, the visibly exhausted reporter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he was about to board the next shuttle out of the base. He was in the middle of setting his foot onto the first step of the removable stairway to the shuttle, when a voice behind him suddenly called out for him to stop.

He turned around to see Saotome Alto in his flight suit, calling to him. "Before you go...what's your name?" He asked, extending his hand.

The reporter smiled and grasped it, giving it a firm shake. "Howard Naum."

_"Figures that a relative of Sheryl would have nearly the exact same last name as her, no matter how distant."_ The blue-haired pilot thought to himself, as he watched the journalist board the shuttle.

He then turned around and headed towards his VF-25 which lay waiting for him, canopy opened with the ladder set.

He had a mission to complete.

.oOo.

**One year later...**

Saotome Alto and Howard Naum both stood at the base of a gravestone, with a purple crystal embedded in its center. "It's been four years since I was last here, Sheryl...Okaeri-nasai." He whispered, laying a hand gently on top of the grave marker. "This is your distant cousin, Sheryl...his name'sHoward." He continued to whisper lovingly to the ornate stone.

While Alto continued to speak at the base of Sheryl's grave, Howard stared at the purple fold quartz fragment that lay embedded in the stone. He suddenly felt another presence there, bathing them in a warm glow. He felt a tingling on his skin, and saw a very faint pink aura wrap itself around the blue-haired pilot who knelt there at the base of his lover's grave.

Howard knew then, that Sheryl was still with Alto. She was with him before, she was now, and she always would be. He smiled and waited for Alto to stand up, the pink aura still visible to his eyes only. It swirled around him, almost as if embracing him tightly.

"Howard...I feel warm. Why here, at Sheryl's grave of all places?" Alto asked, checking himself for signs of illness.

"She's with you, Alto-san...I can feel her presence because we share the same Mayan blood. She's with you now, she was with you before, and she always will be with you..." The blond said.

Alto turned to face the setting sun. Howard couldn't see his face, but he knew that the blue-haired pilot was smiling as he stared at the fading sky.

"I see." Were the only words that came from the former kabuki actor.

.oOo.

Across the galaxy, people from all walks of life flipped through the pages of '_The Fairy and her Pilot: The Last days of Sheryl Nome', _written by one Howard Naum, who went through painstaking lengths to capture the story of the end of the Galactic Fairy's short life, and the love affair that it wrapped around. Instead of publishing it in the newspaper, the Mayan descendant deemed it deserving of being turned into a book.

It was a smash hit, selling millions of copies across the entirety of NUNS space.

In a dimly-lit bedroom, a middle-aged man flipped through the pages casually, as his orange-haired wife slept soundly at his side.

In an apartment on the other side of the city, a green-haired girl read passages from the book to a new tiny, green Vajra larva. Her previous companion fully matured a few years ago, subsequently returning to its brethren.

Alone in an office at the midnight hour, an orange-haired boyish-looking man skimmed through the book's contents, looking up periodically to stare sadly at a picture that lay on his desktop.

In a dimly-lit kitchen, an older, scarred man read through the book over a cup of coffee as his young wife slept soundly on the floor above him.

A large-green zentran read through an electronic manuscript of this book, the hologram appearing right before his eyes as model trains continued on their journeys around him.

In a brightly-lit pink bedroom, an ebony-skinned man with poofy orange hair lay on his stomach, kicking his legs in the air as he flipped through the book's contents with an intense gaze.

In a crowded social hall, a young man outfitted with cybernetics sat in a booth nursing a bottle of beer, as he poured through the book intently, taking in every word.

In an apartment, a young blue-haired meltran stared forlornly at a picture from her childhood that she found, hidden in a particular sniper's helmet. She slammed the book's cover shut, collapsing upon it in a sudden flood of tears.

And alone in his quarters, a blue-haired pilot's eyes finished scrolling over the last page. With a yawn, he shut the book and lay it on the bedstand next to him. He reached over and grabbed a picture of a stunning pink-haired girl, kissed it then set it back down. He reached over and turned off the lights, and curled up underneath the covers, quickly descending into a calm, peaceful sleep.

.oOo.

In the beautiful, clear skies above the city, twelve VF-25's flew overhead, their wings creating sharp contours in the sky.

"Heh, so this is your old home, boss? Nice place...Glad you got us a transfer." Came the australian-accented voice of Crossbone-2.

The pilot of the lead plane smiled and nodded. "Yeah...This is our new home now." The twelve-man flight continued to fly straight, heading for the nearby military base.

Saotome Alto thought he caught a faint hint of strawberries and tropical fruit as he lead Crossbone Squadron home.

"_Sheryl...I'm glad you're with me."_ He thought, keying the radio to call the base.

"Saotome Alto, Crossbone-1, RTB." He said as he banked right, his variable fighter disappearing into the wild blue yonder.

FIN

_The SkullFaerie crew would like to invite you to listen to this fanfiction's companion's FST. Please visit our profile page for more details. Thank you very much for reading and until next time!_


End file.
